Memoirs
by ErikaNapoleonica
Summary: A newly found document is causing controversy in France, the reputation of the Gaston Leroux Association is being threatened and the whole document is claiming certain things were hidden from the readers in Leroux's gothic novel "The Phantom of the Opera"
1. Default Chapter

**

* * *

**

MEMOIRS

The phone rang very early in the morning, Mercedes reached eyes-closed for it and answered half asleep:

"Hello?"

"Dr. Chacon?" A male voice on the other side asked.

"Yes, who is this?" Mercedes asked as she rubbed her eyes and fixed them in the alarm clock on her bed-table. It was 4:02 AM.

"I am very sorry to interrupt you so early Ma'am, but I'm calling from the Gaston Leroux Association and I just called to remind you that the authentication is due Monday."

Mercedes groaned almost inaudibly and said dryly: "Thank you I won't forget!"

Dr. Mercedes Chacon was a light sleeper and once she was awake she couldn't go back to bed, so angrily she moved to the bathroom and after washing her face she went to her basement where her lab was located. She took a deep breath and glanced at the papers on top of one of the tables, she had looked at them and read them so many times she almost knew the words by heart, nevertheless she re-read the document that was causing so much controversy in France...

* * *

**Mes Memoirs**

**Gaston Leroux**

Not so well paid an honest reporter, ha! I found myself wondering in the depths of my own mind. I have loved writing for as long as I've know how to write, but I had foolishly reserved my gift to use it researching for an ordinary newspaper. Recently I have found great pleasure in coming up wit my own stories, but I can truly not forget what lightened the story-telling lumière inside my brain.

When I published my book "The Phantom of the Opera" in 1911 I was desperate to make it believable, not because it was an unbelievable story but because I had gained fame as a novelist and now that I was publishing a factual, credible story I feared that people would not take it as seriously as the story deserved to be taken.

I wrote a great prologue to the magnificent account and an even vaster epilogue, I hid very little from the reader; I gave most of my evidence plus my word and the word of those who really had met Erik. Nevertheless my fame brought doubt and my efforts to give credibility to the story were lost as fast as one loses money! Don't I know about it?! Ha!

Being sarcastic at this point of my life is not really useful, but I hate to say that sarcasm is the only type of humor I have left. Thus trying to tell the truth and failing I shall now write what really happened to me while researching the Opera Ghost's story and this time God as my witness I shall not steal detail, I shall tell the truth... the entire truth from the second my hands grabbed that old Parisian newspaper to the point were I decided that I could not write everything in one book and consequently what I buried in the depths of my mind for so long.

Being a writer I never thought that the action of writing would ever become tedious nor hard, but as I now try to face myself with the facts that I hid for so long I reckon I am not able to find the words which properly describe what I want the reader to know.

"The Opera Ghost really existed." Not only I began my account with this phrase but also I am forced to begin the re-telling of my investigation with it, for it is and I swear it, the pure, simple truth.

I first came to know about the Ghost in 1886 while in the middle of the enormous bibliothèque de la Faculté de Droit. I had heard about the 770-kilo chandelier that had fallen from the ceiling of the Opera Garnier, but young as I was I did not pay much attention to it and foolishly proceeded to assume it had been a simple error in design or perhaps just the age of the mighty chandelier.

But in the library that day I had very little to do...

* * *

**A/N: **I know its not my style but this story just popped into my head, hope you enjoy it... feel free to review as always, any suggestions are more than welcomed.


	2. Chapter 2

Halloween Special!

A/N: First of all don't blame me for not updating Memoirs; God knows that I've tried! Blame school, blame the Leo club, blame my sister, blame everyone! (Except Erik and me of course) Blame Andrew Lloyd Webber, blame Michael Crawford! Blame Hugh Panaro! Especially Hugh Panaro and Broadway Damage! Ahhhhhhhhhh I almost committed suicide! But here you go…

* * *

But that day at the library I had very little to do, as a matter of fact I was boring myself to death, not only an attitude not accepted by high society but also a sign of torpor and bad youth, but as I said I was naïve and did not care.

Upon watching my fellow classmates research and seeing the entrance of Director Beauchamp I quickly hid behind the first aisle I founded, so was my rush that some of the piled, old newspapers fell to the floor in my frenetic rush to place them properly back in the shelf the picture of a crashed chandelier caught my eye, but the noise of my stupidity had drawn attention and I was forced to just rip the page apart, hide it in my pocket and pile the rest of the newspapers back.

Monsieur Beauchamp may he rest in our Lord's peace, was a tall, pale man of whom I have the littlest respect, I suppose he must have been a very desperate man or at least very frustrated one and I pity him, he was almost sixty and still wore clothes of the last century but who was I to criticize his taste in cloth?

When he caught me arranging back the newspaper he gave me that look so proper of his and I just smiled and performed one of my so practiced disappearing trick, compliment and goodbye, never fails in high society. I returned to my chambers and remembered the piece of paper I had so carelessly tore apart and I found it was just a copy of the newspaper that had published the mechanical failure of the 770-kilo chandelier that had fallen on the fourth floor, between seats eleven and thirteen at the Opera Garnier killing a middle aged woman.

Mechanical failure? 770-Kilo Chandelier? My head began to revise the words and I realized it made little sense, after all the Opera had been built under Napoleon III's term... curious, very curious and deserving of further investigation or so I decided.

I had been waiting for something exciting to happen, suddenly I had it... and I made up my mind I was going to the Opera House and I was going to see and study the new chandelier.

* * *

Determining a papers age is an easy task especially if as Dr. Chacon you have been an anthropologist for nearly twenty years. The task is simple, the paper must be soaked in to a combination of S1, H2O, NaCl and Mg, then according to the papers reaction you compare it to the Oxford Scientifically approved guide of Paper and hurray! You have found a papers age. 

Dr. Chacon followed the procedure and determined the paper had been produced in 1904, far too soon, she thought but there was always the possibility of recycled paper or just unused paper suddenly found. Mercedes frowned, her two eyebrows appearing to be one... she had to look for another thing. She did not yet want to do a calligraphy test so she decided she was going to do a chromatography process to determine the inks age, it would be easier and would disprove that Leroux wrote the paper if it did not belong to 1926, deciding to do so Dr. Chacon put her gloves on, covered her mouth with the clinical mask and proceeded to isolate two grams of ink into a beaker.

* * *

I decided my presence in class the next day was not entirely necessary and so I made my way to the Opera House to begin my expedition and investigation of the tragedy. 

I guess I felt exited, I was not yet out of school and I was already investigating an important event, true I was not being paid nor it was official but when one is young money is not everything and rewards are not always gold and silver. And I was so right! For what I found was not only priceless but also unspeakable off! God! I can still remember it so vividly as if it were only yesterday when I discovered it!

I walked into the Opera, some sweet word and some well-studied ones gained me access to the attic were the massive chandelier was attached to the iron pipes and cords that held it in place.

* * *

Darn it! She thought she had just discovered the same components and weight in both inks, there was no doubt about it: A calligraphy test had to take place. She sighed deeply, every single discovery pointed that the document was in fact genuine.

* * *

It did not come all to me at once, in fact it did not come to me at all, but it was my wonderings around the Opera House what brought me to it… or in better word what brought it to me. My investigation did not progress and my frustration was so enormous that I began to miss entire days of school time, not that it really mattered then but I've discovered I could have used what they taught to my empty chair.

It was very late and I had heard thousands of different stories of the supposed ghost that used to haunt the Opera Garnier but I did not believe in them, I was studying to be a reported, I could not take into account myths and superstition, I needed accurate facts, and they finally came that day when a man called Darius came to be in behalf of certain Persian Gentleman who refused to give his name.

What on Earth! A gentleman that refuses to give his name, everyone knows that a gentleman's name is as important as their word, without a name you don't have a word to back, and without a word you do not have a name to honor. But my frustration was vast and I accepted the Persian's invitation for tea.

He had a small property, a really modest house, but appealing and comfortable in every possible way, although I did notice some of the furniture that belonged from the Louis-Philip period did not match the Oriental garments of the rest of the rooms. I was presented to the Persian and contrary to what I thought he was an honorable man who just wished to guide me in my foolish research and he helped me as best as he could. He took me to the only person who knew the story better that him… he took me to the famous half legend… he took me to le Fantôm de l'Opera, who was not a ghost but a living man… who had not died as I claimed in my novel, but instead remained alive.

* * *

A/N: Yay! There you go… like it? Hate it? Tell me what you think….


	3. chapter 3

A/N: Hello again! School has kept me busy and lately I've been co-writing with The Scorpion. Phic is called Sepulchral Elegy: Phantom of the Organ, please read and enjoy… it is the most morbid phic ever besides it has some really nice descriptions… lol! Read it and you'll se what I mean. Anyway here you have it, finally…

* * *

A/N2: OK. One more thing, I had my doubts about posting this, with the movie and all and because there are out there some phans who only have the background of the movie. Nevertheless my Erik will still be as I had originally intended when I began writing. If you have any questions you would like me to directly answer feel free to write or AIM me.

* * *

We had accorded to meet during the late night near the banks of the Sienna, and I must admit that the Persian's punctuality was impeccable! As soon as I descended from my cab I was able to see his figure standing still near the banks, he looked older than he really was under the moonlight, but his eyes were still bright. I intended to follow the gentlemen's code and was about to greet him when he motioned his hand to indicate silence. I was perplexed. I had been taught so many manners and ways of conducing myself, that had always opened the doors on my way in society, but they all now seemed futile and vain. 

The Persian used one of his fingers to point to another cab and I followed him into it. The windows of the carriage were covered and I was not able to see the gentleman driving us, but as soon as the horses began to move, I felt my heart giving a twist, and I began to doubt that it was all a good idea.

* * *

Calligraphy is one of the most unique things each individual possesses. It is not only completely ours, but it is said it reflects personality. The handwriting in both manuscript… manuscript?

* * *

I took out my pocket watch intrigued by the time. But the Persian caught my hand forcing to enclose the watch in my fist. 'Monsieur' he said 'I must ask you not to. Not now and not later when we meet your ghost.' I saw this as the opportunity to obtain a proper prelude to the acquaintance I was about to forge. 'Monsieur' I said as I returned my watch to the comfort of my pocket. ' And this ghost of yours, does he have a name he goes by?' I will never forget the look in the Persian's eyes after I had asked. Something indescribable almost enigmatic filled them with secrecy beyond my comprehension. I knew then that all my questions would have to be answered by this "Phantom" and no other tongue would reveal his mysteries. 

The Persian was a silent companion and I had to resign myself to labyrinthine thoughts and the empty unanswered questions of my mind. I was rather surprised to find that the carriage had stopped, and the moment the door had been opened the unkind midday light hit my eyes and obliged me to close them. 'Let us go young Leroux' I heard the Persian say as he descended the cab 'we must not be tardy.' I helped myself out of the carriage and found that I stood in the middle of a small property. Where? I was not sure. We were escorted by Darius to the main entrance and it was then that the Persian knocked on the door. An old woman opened and bid us welcome. Because of her outfit I easily deduced she was a nun or nurse or perhaps both. We stepped into a living piece, modestly furnished but elegant. 'Will you please be so kind as to announce our presence?' The Persian asked and the woman left us. 'Now we wait.' He declared firmly as he took a seat.

It was not long after, that…

* * *

The Phone rang interrupting her reading. He left everything in the lab bench and quickly moved to the kitchen. She had no phones in her laboratory; she did not like to be bothered. But something inside her made her disobey her instincts and run to the phone. 'Hello?'

* * *

It was not long after, that the nurse returned. The Persian stood up and walked towards her. 'Monsieur wishes to see you sir.' She said politely and as the Persian left us she fixed her gaze on me. I took a better look at her now. Her blue aged eyes, the wrinkles that covered her face, her white hair tightly tied on a bun, her blue dress and apron and finally her eyes again. She sill looked at me and I was about to compliment her when she spoke slowly and bitterly. 'I warn you Monsieur! Shall you upset him; I will personally make sure that the rest of your days are miserable.' I was shocked and remained speechless, even when she left the room I could still feel my mouth hanging open. The Persian returned to the piece and signaled me to go after him. And I did. 

I followed him to the second floor of the house, so drowned in my thoughts that I did not study the art on our way. We stopped in front of one of the many doors and the Persian opened it, he gestured me to go in and so I did, then… he closed the door behind me.

I studied the little room I was in. It was a normal squared room, with an unlit chimney and a chair. There was a mirror that almost covered one of the entire walls and there was a small writing desk. I did not know what to do and I did not wish to seem rude, so I dared not seat. I was aware that the only occupants of the room were my reflection and myself. Yet a strange sensation had take control over my senses and I felt observed.

* * *

'Hello! Yes! Ms. Chacon I presume?' The voice on the other side of the telephone asked. 

'That is correct.'Mercedes answered.

'This is Doctor Laval from The Gaston Leroux Association, and I was wondering if there is a chance we can meet to discuss our advances on the authentication of the documents.' Mercedes blinked and waited for a moment before asking:

'What do you mean our advances?'

'Well' said Dr. Laval 'I too am working on the authentication of the manuscript.'

* * *

I was traveling the maze of my thoughts when the Persian entered the room startling me at first. 'I apologize' he said sincerely 'He is know ready to receive you.' He said and we left the room. I followed the Persian through a small hallway that led to a pair of glass doors half covered by red curtains. The Persian opened one of the doors, and as I stepped out I found myself in a balcony. The Persian entered behind me. It was there were I caught my first glimpse at the Opera Ghost. 

What I saw or at least remember seeing is the back of a man dressed in black, his hands resting on the edge of the whitewall that boarded the terrace allowing the viewer to take in the wonderful view of the blissful garden. I remembered his stance impressed me, he was tall and emaciated but there was something about his carriage that completely trapped my gaze. I could see his dark hair contrasting the white threads of the hair that was beginning to age, yet there was a certain, rare strength to him that made absurd the idea of aging. I remember I stood there, incapable of moving when all of a sudden this phantom turned and my blood turned to ice. It was not his body this time what impressed me, it was the black mask that completely covered his face and above it all the look of his eyes. Now, I could write an entire epitaph describing those eyes, their yellow color, their dullness, the thousand feelings they cried out loud. 'You should remind your friend Daroga, that it is not polite to stare.' The man had spoken those words bitterly, nevertheless his words fascinated me, no, not his words. His voice! It was not like anything I have ever heard before nor have I heard since then.

He turned ever so slowly without meeting my eyes. I did not mind the lack of visual contact for my senses seemed to have abandoned me. I watched him move and take a seat on one of the two chaises that surrounded the Spanish, black-metal table. 'Well you ill-mannered reporter, shall we begin? Or shall we wait for hell to become ice?' It was then that I regained my senses, pulled my notebook and out and sat across this peculiar figure. The good Persian left us closing the glass door behind and pulling the curtains on the other side… we were alone.

* * *

'With all do respect Monsieur, I do not see how that is possible, I understood I was in possession of the complete manuscript.'

'Then I suggest we meet, you might find my advances interesting.'

'Very well then. What time would be best for you?'

* * *

A/N: Please review!!!! Hope you enjoyed this!!! 


End file.
